


Where Blasphemy and Horror Swim By Night

by DarkDreamsOfHannigram, theconsciousdarkness



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Actually more dubcon than non-con, Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Blood, Breathplay, M/M, Masturbation, Psychological Horror, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-09
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2018-01-15 04:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1290625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDreamsOfHannigram/pseuds/DarkDreamsOfHannigram, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theconsciousdarkness/pseuds/theconsciousdarkness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has too much to drink and says entirely the wrong thing to Hannibal. Rudeness is never a good idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Blasphemy and Horror Swim By Night

Often, it was out of boredom. Sometimes, it was one dead body too many to mentally process. And, occasionally, it was for no reason at all. Tonight, while there was a specific reason Will had started drinking, it wasn’t one he could put into words - and once he had started, he couldn’t stop.

Dinner had been a quiet affair, both men having endured long days, and Hannibal had retired early to the sitting room. Will tagged after him, following him to the couch, and knocked back his restlessness in the form of an entire glass of nearly unpalatable whiskey.

Hannibal’s two fingers of Calvados had barely been touched, while Will’s standard three fingers of cheap bourbon had rapidly turned into a whole hand. He was pleasantly fuzzy-headed when he set his glass on the corner table with a loud clink. The doctor winced, and a flicker of something deeper passed over his face, but Will was too inebriated to categorize it.

He leant back, watching Hannibal flick through the screens of his iPad, before stretching his legs out to mirror the other man. Will plucked restlessly at his shirt, fiddling idly with one of the buttons. Alcohol usually quieted his mind, but occasionally it had the opposite effect, and he squirmed uncomfortably.

Agitated, in need of some sort of release, Will pushed a hand against Hannibal’s side, carelessly grabbing at the crisp dress shirt.

“Will!” There was a sharp inhale a moment before an arm shot out, a strong hand wrapping tightly around Will’s wrist. The agent’s hand was pulled away, determinately, even as his fingers still reached out to hang on to the doctor’s shirt. Will grimaced slightly from the firmness of his grip, and tried to twist his arm away.

“Stop. Now.” The tight line of Hannibal’s mouth meant the matter wasn’t up for discussion as he released Will’s arm. He frowned, absently rubbing his wrist, before pulling his legs up on the couch, resting his head next to Hannibal’s leg.

The doctor looked down at him and briefly closed his eyes. Hannibal rested a hand on the back of Will’s neck, thinking that perhaps the contact would mollify him enough to stop his advances. Will tipped his head forward with a pleased moan and as quickly as he had stretched out, he sat up again, pressing against Hannibal. A rough hand slid through Hannibal’s hair and Will leant in to kiss him, aim slightly off target as he collided with his chin.

Will huffed in laughter, but Hannibal stood abruptly, knocking him off balance with the sudden movement.

“Hey!” he called after him, as Hannibal took a seat in front of the fire, “you forgot your drink!” He stood, more unsteady than he remembered being, and grabbed Hannibal’s brandy. Will set the glass down heavily on the table next to Hannibal’s chair, and dropped in his lap, hands immediately going for the buttons at the other man’s collar. Hannibal growled, and Will grinned wickedly, clutching hastily at his arms, pinning him against the chair.

Will grunted as Hannibal’s palm settled on his chest and he found himself being shoved backward out of the chair. He stumbled, and with a thud, dropped unceremoniously to his knees between Hannibal’s outstretched legs, pushing awkward, numb hands against the other man’s thighs. He pitched forward, loose-limbed, and mouthed clumsily at Hannibal’s groin.

“What’s the matter old man, too tired after a long day?” Will grinned, lopsided, and reached up for Hannibal’s belt.

Hannibal had a certain amount of tolerance for Will’s unpredictable moods, but this last comment had crossed the line over to _rudeness_ , and he had no capacity to tolerate that. As Will reached up to pull at Hannibal’s belt, he caught his wrist and, with the slightest of effort, bent his hand backwards at a painful, but not damaging angle. This made it easy to lay him out on the floor, flat on his back, as resisting _would_ cause damage.

Before Will could process what was happening, Hannibal had on knee on his chest, and only shallow breaths were possible; at the same time, a large and strong hand was encircling his neck. He knew Hannibal was powerful, but this level of immediate and forceful control was astonishing.

But perhaps more disconcerting was the red cast Hannibal’s eyes had taken on. Was it the reflection of the fire? They seemed to smolder with wrath personified. Few, if any, who had seen it lived to remember its crimson rage.

Even in this state of fury, Hannibal would never lose control. Had he wished to extinguish Will’s life, he could do it with practiced ease. But that was not his intent, and therefore it would not happen, even by accident. Thoughts came at a swift pace, but time slowed for Hannibal in this familiar situation. He considered several things in this moment: he didn’t want to bruise Will’s neck too visibly; while he knew he didn’t want to murder the man trapped in his grasp, would Will understand this? Or would he believe he made him angry enough to actually squeeze the life from him? He decided to communicate through easing up just slightly on his chest, while pressing more firmly on his throat, then changing the sequence. The fear in Will’s eyes was tinged with the realization that this was not intended to kill him. Hannibal saw a full and complete understanding there that he was under his control, and that resistance was not only unwise, but thoroughly impossible.

Hannibal thought that the perfect revenge for Will’s disrespect would be to give him what he desired, but not in the manner that he had wanted, and with roles reversed. Increasing pressure on his windpipe again, he eased up the leverage on his ribcage, while unzipping Will’s jeans.

With a hint of sarcasm, Hannibal said, “I do hope you’ll enjoy this, Will.”

The alternating pressure between the strong hand that closed over his neck and the knee that pressed against his ribcage made the muscles of Will’s midsection cramp in an effort to draw enough air into his lungs. Just as the ache from Hannibal’s knee eased on his chest, allowing a quick intake of breath, the grip on his throat tightened again, making his ability to exhale even more difficult.

Something, somewhere, had gone terribly wrong with his plan. He lifted his head, the tiny fraction he was able, and saw that red glint still flickering across Hannibal’s eyes. What Will saw staring back at him was a calculating expression of pure rage; even in his confused state he saw the undercurrent of something so dangerous that it made his whole being tremble with the need to escape. He broke out almost instantly in a cold sweat.

Will pushed helplessly against Hannibal’s knee that remained against his chest, his hands numb and uncooperative from the alcohol still coursing through his system.

The action, however weak in its attempt, angered Hannibal even more – the hand that had found its way into Will’s jeans quickly turned from rough groping into an agonizing squeeze. Will pushed out as hard as he could with his leg, but his foot slid uselessly against the high polish of Hannibal’s hardwood floors. He wheezed, a high-pitched sound that scared even him, terrified that such a desperate noise was coming from his own mouth.

Hannibal pressed his thumb against Will’s neck, roughly feeling the pulse that beat hard in his throat – it was an action meant more as a warning than an attempt to silence the man beneath him. It had its intended effect, however; Will’s head dropped back against the floor, a loud crack as his skull connected with the hardwood. Dazed, he closed his eyes, not daring to make eye contact, and shook violently.

Will’s resistance, defiance, fear, and cut-off noises indicative of it set off a chain reaction in Hannibal’s mind that was not going to be stopped; the pinned man never even had an opportunity to take back what he’s said. And now it was too late.

One thumb placed expertly, surgically, over a carotid artery in Will’s neck would accomplish what he wished to do. The oxygen supply to his brain slowed, controlled, but not stopped, brought Will’s irritating thrashing to an end. Hannibal was free to more easily get Will’s jeans open, and even yank them down a few inches. He was somewhat, but not entirely, surprised to see that he’d neglected to wear any boxer shorts this evening; maybe he even took them off at some point, thinking he’d reveal this to Hannibal at some opportune moment. Hoping to entice him. _Gauche and graceless_ , he thought, further justifying what he was going to do.

Playing a few different instruments and being a surgeon had trained his hands to function at different levels of intensity simultaneously. The hand at Will’s neck would be carefully applied, while the other was capable of much rougher treatment. Will’s absurd little ploy of not wearing any underclothes would work to Hannibal’s advantage, as it would make this much easier.

As Hannibal’s thumb pressed against his neck, Will’s body eventually gave a singular jerk, an involuntary movement as the oxygen to his brain slowed, decreasing his awareness. His eyes fluttered open but his gaze was unfocused – heavy-lidded, his blank stare passed over Hannibal’s face without recognition.

His hand, previously pushing against the other man’s knee, had fallen limply against his chest. He clutched weakly at his own shirt, a purposeless motion. The pure physiological response from his predicament was making Will feverishly warm; he was distantly aware of the sweat across his brow, the way the dampness collected against his dip of his collarbones. His eyes watered involuntarily from diminished oxygen, and he sluggishly pushed his hand to swipe at the tears in the corner of his eyes.

He was so very confused; there was dim acknowledgement that he had done something terribly wrong, and something was being done to him in return, but he couldn’t remember what had happened. His hand bumped haphazardly against Hannibal’s fingers, and Will’s movement stilled. There was no dawning realization as to why the other man’s hand was there, still pressed carefully against his neck. Will’s fingers brushed Hannibal’s wrist briefly, before his arm fell to his side.

Some part of his mind registered his jeans being pulled down, however, with the sudden feeling of air against his exposed skin. His mouth dropped open with a barely audible noise of distress, but his limbs were like dead weight, too uncooperative to resist. Will swallowed thickly, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

Now that he was in an obvious state of mental confusion, Hannibal could take his time amusing himself with Will’s inability to resist. He easily brought his exposed cock to full hardness with slow, languid, firm strokes. Occasionally, he would let up on Will’s neck just long enough to let him stray back into partial awareness, and to hear the soft sounds of uncertain pleasure that escaped, only to press back down and suppress the oxygen supply once again.

He knew Will’s responses enough to easily tell when he was bringing the trapped man closer to orgasm. It was then that Hannibal would back down and slow his ministrations, and let Will drift back into alertness just enough to be aware of the denial of release. Over and over, he repeated the process, letting Will go in and out of focus. He would feel the surging of his cock, use the fluid that was beginning to leak in ever greater amounts to increase the slide of his hand. Bringing him close took less and less time now.

It was clear to Hannibal that when he was more cognizant of what was happening to him - that he knew he could hold him in this state endlessly – he became suffused in panic.  The more terror Will experienced, the more inflamed Hannibal’s passions became. It was rare to be able to push Will into this desperate and deep state of fear. He was able to use the man’s natural aversion to losing touch with reality, as well as his own drunkenness, against him. This treatment was only the first part of what he planned to do.

Sometimes he seemed not to recognize Hannibal as he looked up at him, eyes going wider still. Looking at him progress further into agitated horror, Hannibal wondered if Will was occasionally unaware of who was doing this to him. What was he seeing in those moments, he mused? Curious. The truly interesting part was that Hannibal knew that Will would have to lean on him to assuage whatever dread he was experiencing, despite him being the one that caused it. This would make the rest of the evening all the sweeter.

There was a brief period of understanding that passed through Will’s eyes, and he weakly pressed his hand against Hannibal’s arm, but the moment was gone as quickly as it had come. His eyes fell shut and his head rolled slowly to the side, even as the other man’s hand followed his sluggish movements, thumb still pressed almost gently against his throat.

Will groaned quietly, nearly inaudibly. He felt as though he were drowning - being pulled up for air, only to be dragged down again by a force he couldn’t see. His breath came too rapidly and far too deeply to offset the diminished oxygen in his brain. He descended into dreams.

The images in his mind’s eye came like fevered nightmares; they passed in and out of his awareness with an eerie, otherworldly quality. Though he couldn’t feel it, his eyes tracked erratically beneath his closed lids. There was the dim sensation that his head rested heavily in someone’s hand, the same hand that pressed against his throat, but the thought was too difficult to understand.

His lack of release, painful in its persistence, manifested as shadows and hulking shapes at the edge of his visions. They reached out for him, even as he shrank in fear. He hid his head, covered his face, but they grabbed at him, pulled at him, pursued him no matter where he ran. With utter clarity, he finally understood – he was being punished and tortured for his misdeeds. Whatever atrocities he had committed warranted death, slowly and painfully.

Tears leaked from his eyes, sliding down his temples, evidence of his sins and his shameful and unforgivable transgressions. The sweat that clung to his stomach, the back of his knees, that trickled down his forehead - _blood, blood!_ his thoughts shrieked at him. He was being slowly bled to death for his crimes; his body jerked again, beyond his control, as his mind recoiled in horror.

Once Will had started convulsing, Hannibal decided he’d been pushed beyond his capacity to tolerate what was happening to him. He’d long passed the ability to cope with it psychologically, and now his body was in a state of perfect sensory overload. This would make him both pliant and dependent. For his part, he desired to take his own pleasure from Will, especially when he was unable to offer any resistance. And ultimately, he’d be both grateful and relieved, taking the consequences of his foolishness as just chastisement.

Hannibal could easily carry Will’s entire deadweight over his shoulder to get him upstairs, but it would be far more satisfying to have him semi-conscious and at least partially able to cooperate. He stopped obstructing his breathing and circulation, and let him come out of his fog enough to be helped to his feet. Standing relatively quickly, Will swooned and Hannibal was of course there to catch him.

“It is necessary to get you up the stairs, Will. Do I have to carry you?” Hannibal asked feigning that he would be put out slightly by it. The dazed man registered the annoyance in his voice, and knew enough to shake his head. Hannibal put one of his arms around his shoulder, and smiled to himself that Will’s jeans being pulled halfway down around his thighs would make this even more difficult than it strictly needed to be. He grasped a few of the belt loops in one hand, and the collar of his shirt in the other, and began hauling him over to and up the stairs. Will’s feet were practically beyond his control, and became tangled in one another. Hannibal thought he heard murmured apologies in between sobs of frustration.

It took a fair amount of time, and cost Will a fair amount of bruises, but once at the top of the staircase, he seemed soothed, exhaling. Then Hannibal yanked him unceremoniously into the nearest bedroom, and cast him down, hard, upon the mattress.

Will fell awkwardly, legs tangling in the jeans that still hung uncomfortably around his thighs. Landing on his back, his breath was forced out of him with the strength of the other man’s thrust. He clamored backward, fear clouding his vision again when Hannibal descended upon the bed.

With slow and deliberate movements, Hannibal came closer, eyes locked with such intensity that Will dared not look away. He gasped convulsively, a wet and labored sound, when Hannibal grabbed his jeans, yanking them down violently and tossing them aside. It was exhaustion borne of terror that caused Will to crumple in Hannibal’s embrace, face buried in the crook of his arm as he sobbed. After a moment, a gentle hand worked against his straining shoulders, at the tension in his neck.

Leaning heavily on the other man, his erection pressed against Hannibal’s thigh, forgotten, except for the copious amounts of pre-cum smearing against his own belly. He barely registered the pressure of hands against his hips, until he was pushed face down into the bed. Hannibal scratched lightly at Will’s scalp, almost tenderly, until he harshly grabbed a fistful of curls, turning his head sharply to the side.

Anticipating the grimace, and the gasp that followed, Hannibal slipped his fingers into Will’s open mouth, the younger man gagging at the abrupt intrusion. The doctor smirked and hummed quietly, gently thrusting against his tongue.

Will’s struggles had the intended outcome of course, and with a wet slide Hannibal withdrew his fingers, dripping with saliva, only to shove them against the cleft of Will’s ass. Burying his face in the pillow, he moaned loudly, and tried to lift himself, a but large hand settled firmly between his shoulders and forced him back down. He fell back, body limp and yielding to whatever Hannibal desired.

Pinned, and too weak from his previous ordeal to resist, Will could do nothing but shudder and groan when he felt the insistent push of Hannibal’s fingers. They sank deeper inside with every thrust, stretching him wide, despite his cries.

“Shh,” Hannibal soothed, as he plunged back inside, “you’re only making this harder on yourself, and you’ve so long left to go. You behaved so absurdly this evening, Will. Quite out of character. I am determined to uncover the source of these actions.” Hannibal’s voice was tinged with concern, but darkened by lust. He continued to roughly stretch Will’s ass with two, then three fingers.

After a few last vicious thrusts, he said, “You’re to stay perfectly still for a few moments.”

Hearing Will gasp as he withdrew was quite satisfactory. He took his time removing jacket, vest, tie, and shirt, watching Will all the time, ensuring he wasn’t about to flee. But he was clearly so terrified, Hannibal really didn’t think that he would. After he removed his trousers, he slickened his now fully-hard cock, not letting Will see what he was doing. He wanted everything he said and did to take him totally off guard.

Once finished, he turned Will over onto his back and loomed over him imposingly. Not giving him time to readjust to his new position, Hannibal wrested his legs apart, leaned the full weight over his body over him, and touched his forehead to Will’s.

“Now. You’re going to tell me everything that has been in your mind since the beginning of the evening, and through until we ended up right where we are presently. You seemed to be dissociating when we were downstairs. If we are to determine what caused your earlier indiscretions, you’re going to have to be completely honest with me, Will. Tell me everything.”

Will’s heart was pounding so terribly that he was convinced Hannibal could feel it. He imagined it as a beacon, an out-of-sync drumming that his nightmares could sense and latch on to, as a measure of his fear. “Please stop,” he groaned quietly, but made no move to resist Hannibal.

**“** You really are not in any position to argue," Hannibal rasped through clenched teeth. As if to remind Will of the precarious situation he was in, he pressed his fingers back into the places on Will's neck where they would be most likely to bruise if he kept up the pressure.

Alcohol, lack of oxygen, and his worrisome emotional state had left him on the verge of dissociating again. In his mind’s eye, he saw himself plunging his own hands into his chest, a just punishment for crimes he didn’t remember committing. He tore past ribs, past sinew and muscle and bone, to grab his still-beating heart. He imagined his hands were slick with blood when he pulled them back, running in rivulets between his fingers, down his arms. Staring wild-eyed up at Hannibal, he clutched at his own chest, leaving angry red streaks against his skin where he scratched himself. “Just let me die!” he sobbed, head falling back at an odd angle, “they’ll take me anyway!"

Hannibal was surprised by the depth of this reaction. Although outwardly, he only arched an eyebrow, and caught Will's arms to pin them above his head, he didn't let on about the amazement - and excitement - he felt at this turn of events. He'd thought initially that Will was merely flashing back into an assortment of crime scenes he'd had to place himself into over the last several weeks. But clearly, it ran much deeper than that. Will's insertion of himself into the occurrences he found horrific ran deeper than Hannibal had anticipated.

And the opportunity was one that he knew he must exploit.

"Shhhh," he cooed reassuringly directly into Will's ear. "Tell me about them. What are they saying to you...? If you give them voice, we can dispel your fears."

He looked past the other man, watching the space dissolve and crumble; he saw how the blackness and shadows oozed in, first through the corners of the room, then slowly into the middle. Up the bed, across the duvet - it stretched out for him like mist, cold and damp, curling around his ankle, tugging insistently on his leg.

Will groaned, twisting shakily under Hannibal’s grip. He panted, chest heaving so deeply that he pressed against the other man as he breathed.

“It’s my fault, they’re all my fault.” He wailed, and saw the dead lining up, slowly, materializing as they separated from the blackness. One by one they came, watching him over Hannibal’s shoulder, reaching out for him.

“Please, just let me finish! They’ll leave if you let me finish!” He cried openly, pressing his forehead against his arm to hide his face. He tried weakly to free an arm, his chest aching with the need to continue what he had started, to offer himself up as a just reward for all the death.

Hannibal removed his hand from his throat, and began gently unbuttoning Will's shirt. He made sure to make contact with each part of skin that was newly revealed, deliberately avoiding even brushing the man's leaking cock.

He leaned in close to his ear, breath warm and teasing on his neck: "Will, there is a price to be paid for merely alleviating the symptoms of your current state of distress. If we did not thoroughly explore this now, it would surely re-emerge, and be possibly much worse. You must tell me - what is it that you believe to be your fault?"

He grimaced when Hannibal’s fingers passed over the fresh wounds on his chest, but the contact that followed was gentle and soothing enough that Will relaxed somewhat under the other man’s touch. He closed his eyes, not daring to chance what he would see if he kept them open. Whispering quietly, Will took a deep shuddering breath as he spoke. “They’re all here,” he breathed, “all the people I’ve killed."

"I can assure you, Will, we are the only two people here at the moment."

As if to confirm his presence, and to positively reinforce Will's small revelation, Hannibal traced his finger through the increasing amount of precum that had gathered at Will's navel, and used his slick finger to slowly glide up the underside of his straining cock, pressing briefly at the wet slit, before stopping once again.

"There's only one person I know you to have killed, and Garret Jacob Hobbs' death was entirely in the defense of yourself and others. I believe you are dissociating. Tell me what you see, Will. Let me help you."

Will’s mouth dropped open and he moaned softly at the loss of contact. Dissociation and exhaustion made him oddly pliant under Hannibal; he twisted his arm just enough in the other man’s grip to be able to brush his fingers against his hand. The desire to be touched again, coupled with the fear of what lay beyond his closed eyes made it difficult to gather his thoughts.

“All the victims. I’ve killed them.” Will trailed off, whimpering in frustration at his loss for words.

A sharp, quick bite over a particularly abused patch of Will's neck brought him into the present, at least momentarily.

"Will. You have to focus. Find the voice of one of those of which you speak, and tell me how you believe you killed them. That is the only way through this."

Hannibal's voice was growing darker with anticipation of the words he imagined falling from

Will's lips. He began to press the head of his own now throbbing cock at Will's entrance, just enough to let him know that he was ready to hear more.

Tears sprang to his eyes and he hissed when Hannibal’s teeth closed over his already bruised skin.

“Please!”  Nearly shouting, he shook his head violently as if to clear out the debris preventing him from explaining. Out of pure frustration he bit his lip, hard, until he felt the skin split and give way, the coppery taste of his own blood trickling into his mouth.

“I kill them! To know how they died, how it happened...I have to be the one to do it, to see it through my own eyes! I murdered all of them!” He groaned loudly, finally struggling against Hannibal.

Seeing the blood on Will's mouth and listening to him talk about killing was enough to drive Hannibal close to the breaking point himself. He let out a sound that more resembled a snarl than a sigh, and kissed the writhing man hard, tasting both blood and fear.

"You know I can alleviate your torment," he breathed, touching Will's cock lightly once again, before abruptly ceasing contact," just as easily as I can prolong it. Tell me how, Will. I want to hear how you killed them."

Will whined loudly at the bruising kiss when Hannibal withdrew. His head fell back suddenly, eyes wide, as the room melted into the precursor of a crime scene.

He breathed heavily, the scratches on his chest openly slightly as he strained against Hannibal, a small drop of blood skittering down his ribs. He abruptly grabbed the headboard as his hands tightened into an iron grip against the wood.

“I could choke you, suffocate you, rip the life right from you.” He snarled, staring blindly at the ceiling. He shook with the strain and force of his grasp, his whole body tightening as he groaned.

"Yes, Will. You could," Hannibal purred into Will's ear. "Do you imagine me falling limp under your hands as they squeezed the life from me?"

Beginning to guide himself into Will's ass slowly, but persistently and fully this time, he encouraged him to keep talking:

"You could feel my skin give way under your teeth, and you would taste the blood as it poured down your throat, hot and alive."

The sensation of being stretched and filled so completely was immediately jarring in his heightened state. Will stilled for a moment, unsure of what was happening. He lifted his head finally, staring past Hannibal, at the scene unfolding in his mind.

“I’ll take your life so slowly, you’ll beg me to finish you. I’ll let you plead, until I rip your throat out.” Will hissed; lips pulled back in a sneer, teeth worrying at his still-bleeding lip.

Hannibal ran a questing tongue over the small rivulets of blood and the wounds that produced them on Will's torso and rib cage, as he grasped his hip to gain leverage. Awakening Will Graham's bloodlust was intoxicating, and he found himself unable to resist thrusting into him at a quickening pace.

"If I beg you to let me live, Will, would you show no mercy? Would you slow my breaths, and ease only to hear more entreaties fall sweetly upon your ears? Would you be vicious and unrelenting as my life ebbs away? Or force me to debase myself for a cruel and false hope?"

Will surged violently against Hannibal, rising up to meet his thrusts with frenzied insistence. His eyes were wide, their movement erratic as he tracked something that only he could see. Still gripping the rungs of the headboard, he dug his nails into his palms, shaking with fierce intensity as he saw himself slip his hands around the victim’s neck.

Will moaned at the press of the other man’s tongue against his broken skin. He was flushed terribly, hair matted to his forehead, sweat trickling down his brow.

He breathed noisily, snarling at Hannibal’s words.

“You don’t deserve mercy! You don’t deserve anything at all. You should be so lucky I chose you at all!”

"Would you expect me to yield to you and submit were I so fortunate as to be your victim, Will? I'm sure you would find it much more satisfying if I were to fight back. I would force you to earn my surrender."

Hannibal firmly grasped Will with both hands now, fingers pressed bruisingly into flesh, tilting his hips. Fucking him deeper, putting greater pressure on his prostate, growling into his neck between words.

In his fevered visions, Will heard his victim taunting him, even as his hands closed over his neck.

He let out an anguished growl as Hannibal pounded into him, the sensations he was feeling transferring to the scene in his mind; the victim struggled, thrashing against him even as he mocked him. Will lashed out blindly, clumsily striking Hannibal in the shoulder, knuckles barely making contact before sliding off. Completely unaware of the other man’s presence, his palm slid down Hannibal’s back before falling to the side.

“How dare you, how dare you mock me?!” He spat out between clenched teeth, his free hand tangling in the sheets as he struggled.

Catching Will's arms, Hannibal managed to guide them around his back and shoulder, and Will seemed to understand that he was meant to hold on.

"I would never mock you about this, Will. I only want to see how far you can go. I want to know what you are capable of, and help you to bring it forth into the light."

Now that Will was beginning to clutch at Hannibal's body with greater purpose, he instinctively synched his body in response to his movements. Hannibal felt the both of them quickening their pace together, but now in time with one another instead of opposition. More, he thought, just a little more and I'll have what I want.

Will’s hand, gripping Hannibal’s shoulder, strayed uncertainly across the back of his neck, coming to rest lightly in his hair. He angled his hips, rising up to meet the other man, and panted loudly. Moaning, gasping as Hannibal thrust into him, the scene before his eyes began to crumble, gradually giving way to blackness.

The intense fear was creeping back in, even as the former images dissolved, and he was left with an intense feeling of emptiness. “Please,” Will breathed, suddenly terrified, “please don’t leave me here alone.”

Hannibal leaned forward, never breaking the rhythm they'd finally fallen into. He could feel Will's cock pulsing where it was now trapped between their bodies, slick with perspiration. He finally accorded him the pressure and stimulation that he'd denied him throughout this entire ordeal.

"You will never be alone. Your own thoughts will come to sound as if my voice echoes through your head."

He wound his fingers firmly through Will's hair, even as he felt Will's grip in his own tighten.

Mouth hanging open, eyes unseeing, Will groaned quietly, almost continuously as he pushed against Hannibal. There was just enough friction between them, his cock dragging against the other man’s belly, to finally send him over the edge. He cried out as he came, hard, fingers snarled in Hannibal’s hair as his semen pooled hot against his own chest.

He clung anxiously to the other man as he climaxed, arm locked around him, fingers splayed between his shoulder blades as Hannibal’s pace quickened.

Will's entire body seemed to buckle and curl around Hannibal's, tension and release wracking his limbs. As he fucked him through it, Hannibal was unrelenting, ceaseless in drinking it all in. Will was more beautiful broken than whole.

He felt the other man's arms go weak, his legs slacken, allowing him to penetrate his ass deeper still. Only then did Hannibal succumb to the waves of pleasure that coursed through his entire being, body and mind, riding this crest, coming deep inside the stricken form beneath him.

He was surprised to hear a cry ripped from his own throat as he thrust several last savage times. He collapsed on Will's drenched body while he recovered his strength, which had left, however briefly.

After this respite, and before Will had even moved again, Hannibal pulled slowly out of his sopping hole, and hovered over him, expectant for his return to consciousness.

Swimming up through the many layers of alertness, he finally rose to the surface. He lay motionless for several moments, mind blank. Without warning his awareness returned and along with it all of the physical sensations of the last several hours.

The panic over what he said while in his dream state and what was done to him was immediate. There was no recollection of what he had done to cause the ordeal, only that he assumed it was horrible enough to justify his current state.

Will tried and failed to sit up, limbs uncooperative and leaden; his chest heaving, he wheezed loudly from the rush of adrenaline. There was a frantic effort to take stock of what he was feeling. He tongued at his split lip, tasting blood, then probed gently at his neck, trying to figure out the pain he felt when swallowing. Looking down at his chest, finding a swath of livid red scratches, he was startled to see the remains of cum splattered across his stomach.

There was a dawning realization that he had been fucked, hard. He reached back, touching himself hesitantly; his fingers slid easily inside, his wet hole still stretched wide open. Will whimpered as he felt Hannibal’s cum slicking his inner thighs.

The sensory overload of the evening was too much; he gave a sharp noise of distress before groaning in pain. Rolling heavily to the side, nauseous and terrified, he wrapped his arms around his stomach, pulling his knees up to his chest. He sobbed mournfully and uncontrollably, curling in on himself, despite the deep ache in his body.

Allowing Will to turn over, and separate from him at last, Hannibal smoothed back the plastered hair on Will's forehead. He let him catch his breath before speaking.

After a few minutes, as Will seemed to understand that he was there with him, Hannibal said, "Will. You've had a very deep dissociative episode this evening. I'm afraid I had to employ rather unorthodox methods to get you to come out of it. You were quite insistent earlier about...having physical contact with me. You really would not take no for an answer. And then, when I acquiesced, you were acting like you were unaware that I was here with you. Do you see that it is me now, Will?"

To the extent that he could reach his self-inflicted wounds with him being drawn into himself, he probed at them gently.

"You're going to have to let me dress these wounds. I'm afraid you made quite a mess of yourself." Hannibal tried not to betray himself as an amused inflection crept ever so slightly into his voice. But he doubted Will would pick up on it.

Will flinched when Hannibal touched him, startled by the contact. Nodding miserably, he acknowledged the other man’s presence finally.

After several minutes Will stirred, his movements lethargic and slow. He uncurled, stiff and sore, stretching out on his back under Hannibal. Despondent, he kept his gaze down, horrified by what he was hearing – he wanted to sink into himself, to disappear in the blackness he vaguely remembered reaching out for him.

“My throat hurts,” he murmured quietly, wincing as he swallowed. He lay passively, exhausted.

"You had rather a lot to drink earlier. I'm afraid you seem to think you are invincible and immune to injury in that state."

Hannibal lightly ran his fingers over Will's throat, not pressing hard enough to hurt, but enough to remind him of the worst of what he'd inflicted.

He sat back and looked over Will's entire body, now that he had a more complete view. The scratches on his chest weren't particularly deep, and wouldn't be visible. The bruises on his neck, however, were worse than he had planned on, and would require him to wear something with a high enough collar to hide them, if he were to avoid awkward questions.

"I believe there is no permanent damage. But once the effects of the alcohol wear off, I fear that you may be in considerable pain."

But the next question had to be asked, even if it opened doors to territories best left unexplored: "What do you remember?"

Will thoughts wandered to earlier in the night, when he had been attempting to drink away bad memories. There was a blank area in his mind, his timeline picking up again when he had begun conversing with Hannibal from within his dream state.

Groaning, nauseous once more, he recalled his words - the mental anguish over what he said and what he envisioned was horrific. The physical pain, just beginning to cloud his thoughts, was barely punishment enough to offset his perceived faults.

Absently touching his hands to his throat, prodding at his heated skin, he eventually let his arms drop to his sides. He swallowed with difficulty, and sighed. “I remember everything I said to you,” he replied dully, staring listlessly toward Hannibal.

Hannibal raised Will's chin up so he had to look him in the eye. With greatest concern, he said, "You did say some rather impertinent and cruel things, Will. But it's important to understand that the more you keep these things locked inside your mind, the more that they will emerge at inopportune times. I suggest two things. One, that we explore these tendencies of yours in a more controlled atmosphere, and then see what that brings. And two, that you do not attempt to deal with them anymore tonight. I will give you something to ease your sleep, and then tend to your wounds."

He got up and put on a dressing gown, going outside the room for moment. When he returned, he had a few tablets and a glass of water.

"Seeing as you trust me enough to share your darkest of desires, I hope you trust me enough to take my medical advice."

Will took the tablets without question, grateful that the ache and weariness he was feeling might finally fade away. Fear still lingered however, especially at the thought of being pulled into unconsciousness - the plea from earlier echoing through his mind.

“Please, don’t leave me alone.” His request was barely audible as he imagined himself abandoned, unable to wake, trapped in dreams he couldn’t escape.

He reached out, still overtly aware of how Hannibal said he had acted earlier in the evening, and lightly touched the other man’s leg before pulling his hand back.

“Will it take long?” He asked quietly, briefly making eye contact with Hannibal before he lay back and tried to relax.

Hannibal smiled down at Will. He put a warm and comforting hand on Will's which he had so tentatively pulled away.

"You'll be asleep before you know it. I will stay here and ensure you are resting comfortably."

He watched as Will's eyes closed, as his face gradually relaxed, and his breathing regulated. Only then did he leave and return with a damp cloth, and some gauze. The wounds weren't more than superficial in most cases. One particularly deep scratch, the one that had bled the most, required dressing.

Once Will was adequately cleaned and bandaged, he stepped back to admire his work. The evening had been very educational.

**Author's Note:**

> Another collaboration! We have lots more planned.
> 
> The title comes from the first stanza of the poem "De Profundis Clamavi" or "Out of the Depths Have I Cried" by Charles Baudelaire:
> 
> Have pity, my one love and sole delight!  
> Down to a dark abyss my heart has sounded,  
> A mournful world, by grey horizons bounded,  
> Where blasphemy and horror swim by night.
> 
> See [this site](http://fleursdumal.org/poem/127) for the full poem, and alternate translations.


End file.
